Wappin' Wharf Part 9

CAPTAIN: This here Prince o' Wales is journeyin' down Plymouth way.

DUKE: What 's that ter us? I 'm askin' yer. His 'Ighness cut me when I pa.s.sed him in Piccadilly. The bloomin' swab! I pulled me hat, standin'

in the gutter, but he jest seemed ter smell somethin'.

PATCH: It were n't roses, I 'm tellin' yer.

CAPTAIN: Silence! They say he has sworn an oath to break up the pirate business on the coast.

PATCH: And let us starve? It 's unfeelin'.

DUKE: No pickin's on the beach?

JOE: I 'd like to catch him. I 'd slit his wizen.

DARLIN': I 'd put pizen in the pig I feeds him.

DUKE: I 'd nudge him off the cliff--jest like he were a sneakin'

snooper.

CAPTAIN: Well, there 's yer news! I 'm dry. Darlin'! Some grog!

(_He crosses to the table and draws the pirates around him._)

CAPTAIN: Here 's to the Royal 'Arry!

DUKE: And may the helmsman be wery sleepy!

DARLIN': And we as innercent as leetle pirates suckin' at their bottles!

ALL: The Royal 'Arry!

(_While the cups are still aloft there is a loud banging at the door.

An old woman enters--old Meg. We have seen her but a minute since pa.s.s the windows. Perhaps she is as dirty as Darlin'. A sprig of mistletoe, even at the reckless New Year, would wither in despair. She is a gypsy in gorgeous skirt and shawl, and she wears gold earrings. Any well-instructed nurse-maid would huddle her children close if she heard her tapping up the street. Meg walks to the table. She sniffs audibly. It is grog--her weakness. She drinks the dregs of all three cups. She rubs her thrifty finger inside the rims and licks it for the precious drop. She opens her wallet and takes from it a fortune-teller's crystal._)

MEG: I tells fortins, gentlemen. Would n't any o' yer like ter see the future? I sees what 's comin' in this here magic gla.s.s. I tells yer when ter set yer nets--and of rising storms. Has any o' yer a kind o'

hankerin' fer matrimony? I can tell yer if the lady be light or dark.

It will cost yer only a sixpence.

CAPTAIN: Yer insults me. Fer better and fer worse is usual fer worse.

Does yer think yer can anchor an ol' sea-dog like me to a kennel as is made fer landlubbery lap dogs? I 've deserted three wives. And that 's enough. More 's a hog.

(_He retires to the fireplace in disgust._)

DARLIN': Husbands is nuisances, as I was tellin' the sea-captain, jest afore he cut his throat.

DUKE: Thank ye, ol' lady, I does n't need yer. When the ol' Duke is willin', he knows a leetle dear as will come flutterin' to his arms.

PATCH: What can yer do fer an ol' sailorman like me? I 'd like someone with curlin' locks, as can mix grog as good as Darlin's. And I likes roast pig--crackly, as Darlin' cooks it. (_He offers his hand._) I has a leetle girl in mind, but she 's kinder holdin' off. What does yer see, dearie? Does yer hear any fiddles tunin' fer the nupshals? Is there a pretty lady waitin' fer a kiss?

MEG: I sees the ocean. And a ship. I sees inside the cabin o' that ship.

PATCH: Does yer see me as the captain o' that ship? Jest settin' easy, bawlin' orders--jest feedin' on plum duff.

MEG: I sees yer in irons.

PATCH: Mother o' goodness! Now yer done it!

MEG: I sees Wappin' wharf. I sees a gibbet. I sees--

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I sees a gibbet. I sees----"]

PATCH: Horrers!

MEG: I sees you swingin' on that gibbet--stretchin' with yer toes--swingin' in the wind.

PATCH: Yer makes me grog sour on me.

(_He goes to the rear of the cabin and looks disconsolately over the ocean._)

MEG: (_as she looks in the gla.s.s_). I sees misfortin fer everyone here--'cept one--tragedy, the gibbet. Go not upon the sea until the moon has turned. Ha! Leetle gla.s.s, has yer more to show? Has yer any comfort? The light fades out. It is dark.

DUKE: Ain 't yer givin' us more 'n a sixpence worth o' misery? Yer gloom is sloppin' over the brim.

MEG: Ah! Here 's light agin at last. There 's a red streak across the dial. It drips! It 's blood!

CAPTAIN: Ain 't yer got any pretty picters in that gla.s.s?

PATCH: Graveyards are cheerfuller 'n gibbets.

MEG: Peace! I sees a man in a velvet cloak. It 's him that swings yer to a gibbet. It 's him that strangles yer till yer eyes is poppin'.

That man avoid like a pizened snake.

CAPTAIN: Avoid? By the rotten bones o' Flint, if I meets that man in a velvet cloak I hooks out his eye.

DUKE: Captain, yer sweats yerself unnecessary. (_Slyly._) Here 's Red Joe, ol' dear. Joe 's a spry young feller. He looks as if he might be hankerin' fer a wife. Hey, Darlin'?

DARLIN': He 's the kind as wampires makes their wictims.

(_With a laugh--but unwillingly--Joe holds out his hand._)

MEG: (_as she looks in the gla.s.s her face brightens_). I sees a tall buildin' with gold spires. I hears a shout o' joy and I hears stately music, like what yer hears in Bartolmy Fair arter the Lord Mayor has made his speech. I sees a man in a silk cloak. He swaggers to the music. I sees--I sees--

(_She looks long in the gla.s.s and seems to see great and unexpected things. Her eyes are as wide as a child's at a tale of fairies. It is no less a moment--but how different!--than when Lady Bluebeard peeped in the forbidden door. Scarcely was Little Red Riding Hood more startled when she touched the strange bristles on her grandmother's chin. But Meg is not frightened. She smiles. She bends intently. She is about to speak. Then she sinks into the chair behind the table._)

MEG: I sees--I sees--nothin'! The gla.s.s is blank!

CAPTAIN: Nothin'? Jest nothin' at all?

PATCH: Ain 't there no blood drippin'?